


Horror Fantasy Drabble Collection

by birdroid



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Gen, Horror, Inspired by Bloodborne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:27:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26709754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdroid/pseuds/birdroid
Summary: My entries for a series of writing exercises I've found on dybr.ru





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So far there has been posted only a couple of exercises, but I hope there'll be more. Both of the drabbles are heavily inspired by Bloodborne, and I expect to carry on this inspiration.

Reluctantly, he handed over the key. "Curse ye," he muttered. "Curse ye and all the scions yours, and curse their scions twice as hard."

The hobbled old watcher spat a glob of foul phlegm at your feet and limped away into the darkness of the tower. The outside howl of the blood moon has dwindled down to a dreadful keening, raising your hackles all the same. Soon, the nightmare is going to end. All that you need do is commit one last act of valiant atrocity.

The priestess must die, as does her newborn.

The door creaks open to reveal her resting on a rocking chair. The labor has transformed a blooming teenage girl into a wizened crone, stooping and delirious. She lovingly holds a bundle close to her naked sack of a breast, seemingly oblivious of the mandibles that gnaw it bloody. "My sweet, sweet child," she coos, caressing its waxy chitin shell. "An hour old, and so strong already."

You're not going to wheedle her into giving you the Wight. Staving both of them through must do the job just as well.

You strengthen the grip on the shaft of your lance, point its golden tip at the pair, and freeze.

The newborn Wight has donned your face.


	2. Chapter 2

The newborn yowled like a street cat at night. The forest oaks and aspens rattled their leaves in return, as if to hush the poor child, and for a brief moment it seemed to work. Then the baby started crying again, so loud this time that poor Carer Carry thought he was like to burst. She knew nought about newborns other than they came out of pregnant women's bellies and fed on milk from their breasts, but, alas, at eleven years, her own chest was flat with nary a hint of milk inside, and all the other dwellers of the forest were away for the night.

She had tried singing a lullaby, each syllable coming off as awkward and off-key to her ears, but to no avail. She then picked a collection of fairytales from Molten Molly's bookcase, but the newborn's cries had been so persistent she couldn't hear her own reading, let alone the child; not to mention the story was so dull it proved little distraction from the neverending wailing beside her very ears.

Carer Carry despaired of hushing it. With mounting disquiet, she glanced out the window overlooking the road that snaked down from the city and through the oaken grove. A thicket of branches covered the better part of it from her view, but it was empty. As yet, at least.

She wished the ritual to be complete already. "The child must give their life," said Molten Molly, and that was the only piece of instruction that Carer Carry had ever heard.

Suddenly, she glimpsed something, a torchlight flickering down the road, and then an echo came, iron clatter mingled with angry curses, barely audible behind the yowl of the baby, and then... it was gone. The world outside the hut grew quiet.

"Hush!" Carer Carry barked at the newborn, and to her surprise, it hushed.

Who was that? she wondered. A thrill-drunk hunter who stumbled here by chance? Or the family, ready to barge in brandishing forks and scythes and sickles and save the beloved child from the ritual? She craned her neck to get a better look, but the road was still only dirt and pebble, undisturbed by a man's presence ten years now. She spotted a squirrel hopping across and up a tree, and then an owl took wing after a hoot.

Then there was nothing, silence.

And then Carer Carry wondered why the baby had been so quiet, still.

And a moment later, why she had never bothered to ask which child was supposed to give their life.


End file.
